


let your heart be light

by sheisraging



Series: little windows [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Eve, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, M/M, Post-Recovery Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 02:51:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5522681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheisraging/pseuds/sheisraging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fury calls three days before Christmas. Hydra cell. Big. Bad. Suit up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let your heart be light

**Author's Note:**

> This is the Christmas mentioned in [Twenty Questions](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3616377), and makes a small reference to something from that story, but you don't really have to read that one to follow this one.
> 
> Much thanks, as always, to [Ignited](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ignited/pseuds/ignited) for the beta.
> 
> I also have to give credit to [elleflies](http://elleflies.tumblr.com) for being my Christian reference so that I would know when/if Sam would likely be expected to go to church for Christmas - In her own words: _"I demand acknowledgment for my long years of suffering through Christmas Eve services so I could deliver this information."_ I'm a Jewish heathen, so I know not of these things. Thanks, Tarina.

Fury calls three days before Christmas. Hydra cell. Big. Bad. Suit up.

Bucky can tell by the look on Steve’s face that he’s about to offer to stay behind and he knows the rest of the team will bow their heads and nod if he does.

He shakes his head. “Don’t ask, Steve. I’m fine.”

“Buck, I–”

A small hand braces against Steve’s shoulder, widening the space between he and Bucky.

“He said he’s fine, Rogers. Wheels up in thirty.” And sometimes Bucky is just a little bit grateful for how not sentimental Romanov can be.

Steve nods, eyes never leaving the floor. He waits a beat after Natasha walks away, then reaches out to squeeze Bucky’s shoulder.

“You’re sure?”

“Worry about yourself, Steve.” Bucky nods. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be right here.”

“Okay,” Steve takes a deep breath and exhales heavily, then suddenly pulls Bucky against him.

Bucky goes still for a second, maybe two, before his brain kicks into gear and he hesitantly brings his arms up and around Steve’s back. They pull away after a moment, Steve’s hands lingering on Bucky’s biceps. He runs his thumb just under the mistletoe painting that peeks out from beneath the sleeve of Bucky’s t-shirt.

“Merry Christmas, Buck.” Steve says, the lilt of sadness in his voice a contrast to the smile he tries to cover it up with. He brings his fingers to his lips, kissing the tips and then pressing them back to Bucky’s arm.

“Hold on,” Sam interrupts, pacing over to them from the doorway. “Are we _not_ going to be back in time for Christmas?”

Steve shrugs, stepping back, his hands slipping away from Bucky as he makes an aborted gesture toward the door. “Mission’s in Europe. Christmas is in three days.” He shrugs again. “Doesn’t seem likely, Sam.”

Bucky lifts an eyebrow, mildly amused at Sam’s sudden onslaught of troubled lip chewing, arm folding, and leg shifting. “You afraid you’re gonna get switched to the naughty list or something?”

“Yeah, you make jokes. None of you have met my momma _or_ her three sisters.”

“Tell ‘em you have to help rid the world of evil?” Steve offers.

Sam crosses his arms tightly over his chest and levels Steve with a glare. “There is no evil in this _world_ that cannot be better fought by my ass sitting in a church pew on Christmas Eve.”

“Wilson,” Tony asks, strolling into the room and heading to the kitchen, “Are you telling us you cannot join this mission because your _mommy_ won’t let you?”

“Look, guys, it’s not–” Sam looks around the room, “I want to help, I just need to be here for–I haven’t–” he sighs. “Oh fuck, y’all have no idea what fresh hell this is going to be for me. I’ll get my wings.”

“Sam.” Steve reaches out and plants a hand on Sam’s chest, stopping him. “You should be with your family. We can handle this.”

Tony rolls his eyes and bins the water bottle he’s just emptied. “So this is a thing that’s _actually_ happening?” He sighs. “Okay then.” He leaves the room shaking his head.

“Be right there.” Steve calls after him.

Bucky knows it’s coming. From behind Sam’s back, he shakes his head as subtly as he can manage, but Steve’s already got that giant hopeful grin on his face.

“This is good,” Steve tells Sam, “I mean, since you’ll be around. Maybe you and Bucky can–”

“I don’t need a babysitter, Steve.”

“No, Buck–” Steve shakes his head, “That’s not–”

“He just doesn’t want you to be alone on Christmas, man,” Sam explains.

“Fine.” Bucky sighs, then nods toward the door. “Now go. If Wilson’s mom says it’s okay, maybe he can come hang out with me on Christmas.”

“Not cool, man,” Sam mutters as they watch Steve back out of the room with a wave.

\---

He doesn’t mope.

Bucky is doing well. He works out, he reads, he talks to the team… Sometimes. He even leaves the Tower occasionally — walks around the city, lets himself blend into the crowds and just wanders.

So he doesn’t mope, because it isn’t a lie — Bucky is fine on his own. He doesn’t need, or _want_ , a babysitter. He isn’t thrilled about the fact that he’s not quite ready for active missions, or having to trust someone else to watch Steve’s back. He knows the team is good, but it’s a job Bucky would prefer to do on his own.

Still, it’s waking up to the empty apartment on Christmas Eve that really forces Bucky to admit to himself that he would have liked to spend Christmas with Steve. That he’d in fact been looking forward to it — secretly squirreling gifts away so he could get up early and put them under the tree this morning, picturing Steve’s face as he opened each one.

Bucky forces himself out of bed and trudges over to his closet, letting the door swing open to reveal the stack of wrapped presents on the floor. He sighs and reaches over them for a hoodie and sweatpants, swinging the door shut and heading for the shower.

And maybe he mopes, just a little.

\---

It’s just after sundown and Bucky’s camped out on the sofa with a beer and his tablet. He’s stashed all of the gifts under the tree for… whenever, and accepted the fact that his first Christmas is a bust.

He’s about to swipe the tablet off and take a nap when J.A.R.V.I.S. politely interrupts.

“Pardon the intrusion, Sergeant Barnes, but Mr. Wilson is at the door.”

Bucky frowns at the ceiling, “Why?”

“It appears he’d like to celebrate Christmas with you, sir.”

Bucky closes his eyes and drops his head back heavily against the sofa. “Any chance you can convince him I’m not home?”

“My apologies, sir, but Mr. Wilson has insisted I relay that he knows ‘your ass is home.’”

“How does he know?” Bucky mumbles, making his way over to the door.

Sam is at the door wearing a huge smile and a hideous sweater. He’s carrying two large grocery bags in his arms.

“I thought you were supposed to be in church,” Bucky says.

“The polite thing to say is ‘Please, come in’.” Sam replies, one eyebrow raised.

Bucky huffs, reaching out to take one of the bags, “Please. Come in.” He deadpans.

Sam struts in happily, wide grin never leaving his face. Bucky kicks the door shut and goes to place the bag on the kitchen counter.

“Does anything in here need to be refrigerated or–”

“Have you eaten? Figured you could use a good home-cooked meal, and my momma wasn’t about to let Captain America’s best friend go hungry on Christmas.”

“I wasn’t going to go hungry.” Bucky grumbles, unloading containers into the fridge. “Is that how you got out of church?”

“Hey, Cap asking for a favor is almost like a holy mission.”

Bucky stares at him quietly for a few seconds. “Sinner.”

“I brought egg nog?” Sam offers.

“Heathen.”

\---

Sam heats up the leftovers which, Bucky admits, are much better than any of the delivery options he’d been considering, and they settle on watching Home Alone once Sam realizes that Bucky’s never seen it.

“It’s a kids movie.” Bucky frowns.

“It’s a wholesome holiday family classic.” Sam corrects.

Bucky raises his eyebrows and looks around the room. “Are you my wholesome holiday family?”

Sam gives him the finger.

“I’m gonna tell your mother than you skipped out on church, came over to Cap’s house with booze and exposed me to vulgarities.”

“I know you’re a previously scary person, but believe me when I tell you that nobody will ever find your body.” Sam replies, not even looking away from the Netflix menu.

Bucky snorts into the snout of his beer bottle and kicks his legs up on the coffee table.

Sam finds the movie and hits play and then immediately pauses it.

“Something wrong?” Bucky asks, curiously.

“I have something for you,” Sam says, cheerfully, though beneath it, Bucky senses a hint of nervousness that puts him on edge.

“Okay.” He sets the beer on the coffee table and rests his elbows on his knees. “Do I have to guess what it is?”

“Nah, I’ll get it.” Sam all but jumps off the sofa and heads for the kitchen, where Bucky watches him tear open a carton of egg nog and drink at least half of it straight from the container.

“Christ, Wilson, you look like you’re having one of my old episodes. You’re not gonna tell me you’re in love with me, are you?”

Sam coughs, laughs, and spits egg nog out all over the floor. He looks up at Bucky with laughter shaking his shoulders and egg nog dripping from his goatee.

Bucky shakes his head, “You’re a fucking mess. I hope you’re not in love with me, ‘cause I hate to break it to you buddy, I’m gonna have to let you down hard.”

“Go fuck yourself, Barnes,” Sam laughs. He grabs a wad of paper towels and sets about mopping up the mess he’s made of the kitchen.

“Make sure you get in all those crevices,” Bucky yells. “Steve’s real compulsive about kitchen orderliness.”

A few minutes later, something soft and fuzzy comes sailing at Bucky’s head, wrapping around his face. He tears it away and holds it out in front of him. 

“What. The fuck. Is this?”

Sam is standing in front of the TV, arms out at his sides, “It’s your Ugly Christmas Sweater.”

Bucky looks at the bright red and green sweater Sam is wearing, complete with fuzzy reindeer and red pom-pom nose, and then back to the item in his hands, noting that they’re identical.

“Absolutely not,” Bucky states, tossing the sweater back at Sam.

“Oh come on, man. Where’s your Christmas spirit?”

“It died in the 40’s with the rest of me,” Bucky supplies.

Sam tilts his head. “Really? That’s how you wanna play it?”

“If it gets me out of putting on that ridiculous sweater, I will play any long suffering card I have to.”

Sam throws the sweater back at him. “Put it on. My momma bought that sweater. I am officially insulted on her behalf.”

“Well, I’ve never met her and I feel no such need to please,” Bucky reasons, hurling the sweater back at Sam.

“She cooked dinner for you, man!”

“She cooked dinner for _you_ ,” Bucky replies, catching the sweater as Sam chucks it back over. “I just got leftovers.”

Sam shakes his head. “Nuh-uh, that apple pie was specifically for you. Why do you think it was a _whole pie_? You think that would last a minute on my family table? Please.”

Bucky looks at the half eaten apple pie still sitting on the kitchen counter and side-eyes Sam. “I don’t believe you,” he says, holding the sweater in his lap.

“Steve told me you guys liked apple pie, so I asked my mom if she would put one together, with all the other pies she makes for the family, so I could bring it over here after dinner tonight. _For you_.”

Bucky slumps as Sam grins.

“You’re a bastard Christmas elf, Wilson,” he mutters. “And a sinner.” He yanks his sweatshirt over his head and tosses it over the back of the sofa, tugging the sweater down over his shoulders. “And a heathen.”

Sam grins broadly. “We should take a selfie.”

\---

“Wilson.” Bucky shrugs his right shoulder, where Sam is leaning heavily, asleep since forty-five minutes into Home Alone and drooling for almost as long.

“Wilson,” Bucky grunts, “Wilson, wake the fuck up.”

Sam snuffles and turns his head against Bucky’s upper arm, dragging a line of drool across Bucky’s horrible Christmas sweater.

Bucky leans forward and grabs the last carton of egg nog off the table, causing Sam to slide down against the sofa behind him.

“Merry Fucking Christmas,” Bucky mutters. He chugs from the carton as Sam begins to snore loudly against his back.

\---

Steve enters the apartment as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake Bucky if he’s sleeping. He stops short at the entrance to the living room, surprised to find Bucky passed out on the sofa, and Sam curled up with his head pillowed on Bucky’s lap. Steve grins when he notices that they’re wearing matching Christmas sweaters.

“Hey guys,” Steve chuckles. “Getting into the Christmas spirit?”

Bucky wakes immediately, launching himself from the sofa and sending Sam spinning to the floor.

“I thought you weren’t coming home until after… you said,” Bucky rushes toward him, looking Steve over for any injuries, despite him having changed into plain clothes.

“Buck, I’m fine.” Steve holds both arms out to his sides. “All in on piece. Not even a scratch, see?”

“I see a scratch,” Bucky mutters, dragging his finger down a small scrape on Steve’s forehead.

Steve rolls his eyes, knocking Bucky’s hand away and sticking out his tongue. “ONE scratch. I’m fine. Promise.”

Steve grins. “I like your sweater.”

Bucky drags his hands over his face and back through his hair, then turns and points at Sam. 

“Hey, Sam,” Steve continues, stepping past Bucky and toward the sofa, where Sam is now standing, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. 

“Hey, man, how’d it go?” Sam asks, grabbing Steve’s extended hand and then pulling him into a quick hug.

They pat each other on the back and Steve steps away, looking between Sam and Bucky, “It was fine… but I could have sworn I told you that earlier so you’d let Bucky know I’d be home tonight.”

Bucky’s eyes go wide. 

“Now hold up,” Sam defends, throwing both hands out as Bucky takes a step toward him.

“Buck,” Steve laughs, “C’mon, it’s Christmas.”

“Not yet,” Bucky looks down at the sweater he’s wearing and grimaces. “I can’t believe you got me to put this on.”

“I think you look—”

Bucky whips his head around to look at Steve, who mimics Sam, throwing his hands up, but laughing all the same. 

“Festive,” Steve finishes with a smirk.

“I think that’s my cue to go,” Sam chuckles, grabbing his coat and heading for the door. “Glad everything went okay, Steve. Merry Christmas.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

“And hey,” Sam turns to Bucky and extends his hand, “Merry Christmas, Barnes.”

Bucky stares at Sam’s hand for a moment before gripping it and pulling him in the way Steve had earlier. He gives Sam a quick pat on the back and pushes away. “Merry Christmas, you heathen.”

Sam cackles on his way out the door.

\---

Bucky impatiently waits for Steve to settle in and unpack his bags before pushing him toward the Christmas tree and demanding he sit. 

“Buck, it’s not even Christmas yet,” Steve insists. “We’re not supposed to open presents until tomorrow. I haven’t even had a chance to put yours out yet.”

“We can do one the night before,” Bucky says, dropping down across from Steve. 

“Can I at least go get one of yours then?” Steve asks, already getting back up and heading to his room.

“Make it fast, Rogers,” Bucky yells, rifling through the presents under the tree.

Steve comes back a few minutes later with a pile of boxes in his arms, stacked so high Bucky can’t see his face. 

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Bucky mutters. “I thought you were getting _one_.”

“Might as well put them all out, though.” Steve explains, gently lowering the stack to the floor and starting to arrange them beneath the tree.

Bucky looks on, not bothering to mask the fond expression on his face. 

Steve finishes and turns to sit cross-legged in front of Bucky. He reaches back and pulls one of the wrapped boxes onto his lap. “Ready when you are.”

Bucky eyes the size of the box Steve is holding and looks at the much smaller one he’s picked out for the night. He squints an eye at Steve and sets the gift back under the tree, pulling out another that’s similar in size to the one Steve has picked for him.

Steve lets out a short peel of laughter. “And here I thought I was supposed to be the competitive one.”

“Can’t let you win every time, though.” Bucky grins.

“Oh, interesting. You think you _let_ me win?” Steve counters, brows shooting up.

“I know I do.” 

“Care to put your money where your mouth is?” 

“We could do this all night,” Bucky sighs and holds out the box he’s selected. “Merry Christmas, Steve.”

Steve smiles, eyes going soft. He takes the gift and hands Bucky’s over to him. “Merry Christmas, Buck.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://sheisraging.tumblr.com) and be amazed at how many photos of Chris Evans I can reblog in one week!


End file.
